Rachel's Fire: 04

(FORBIDDEN)
Somewhere under that giant blue quilt over there my boyfriend Gavin is curled up having innocent dreams. I can hear him whispering to himself. He often does that when hes sleeping. I sometimes wake up in the darkness to hear snatches of his confused conversation. I can never make out whole sentences. Just the occasional word.

Its almost 4.00 in the morning and Im sitting pretty much naked before the glare of this cold glass once more. Mirrors play an important part in my life. Not vanity: just good old-fashioned female insecurity.

(Well now Rachel. What goes through your troubled little mind as you sit shivering by the Looking Glass?)

Just the usual really. Should I get my hair cut? Are my tits too wee? Did Gavin switch the immersion on?

I mustve sat here for well over two hours/ chain smoking (I honestly really am going to stop after this packet)/ twisting strands of black hair round yellow-stained fingers/ listening to Patti Smith through those annoying wee grey walkman earphones and allowing my thoughts to return once more to Byron.

The first man I ever fucked.

Probably the only man I ever really loved.

It gives me a dark feeling to think about Byron while Gavin lies sleeping in the same room. An adulterous fantasy. Forbidden.

***

(THE FIRST TIME)
Two weeks after Sharons party. Mum was working late at the hospital and Byron and I were drinking dry cider and talking and listening to Bob Marley. After a while it just seemed right so we stumbled through into my bedroom and lay on top of the bed/ kissing and fumbling in the darkness.

I laid my head on the pillow and felt his hand move up my thigh. Under my skirt. His fingers sliding to you know where. Touching me through my underwear.

*Thats nice.* I whispered. The air around me cool and fresh against my skin. Inside though I was burning up. Sparked into life like Mary Shelleys monster.

Byron crawled up the bed so he could kiss me on the cheek.

*Oh dont stop.* (Did that sound desperate?)

He drew back and hiked my skirt up to my waist. With one sudden movement he dragged my knickers down as far as my ankles. I giggled and tried to kick them off over my feet but I still had my shoes on and the elastic was getting tangled up in the heels so he gave them one final tug and dropped them onto the

onto the

(Christ this hurts. It really fucking hurts inside. This sadness.)

***

(DOWN IN THE SCUZZ WITH PATTI LEE)
*Pissing In A River* comes on the tape and I shiver.

Imagine Patti Smith standing there on the bank: thin and naked/ legs splayed/ her clothes bundled at her feet. She breathes the scent of trees and grass and baked mud in through her nose. Curling her toes in the earth.

The air tickles over her skin and through her hair. Slowly slowly she steps off into the icy water and sinks until her bony white body is almost completely submerged. Kicking her legs beneath her she allows her muscles to relax and feels that shiver of pleasure run up her skinny spine as her bladder empties and the warmth rises around her.

***

(EXPLOSIONS)
Christ this hurts. It really fucking hurts inside. This sadness.

Ive been thinking about Byron a lot recently. Dont know if Ill ever get over him. Occasionally if I smell or see or hear something that reminds me of him the pain explodes through me. Burning into every cell in my body. Devastating me. At these times I struggle to talk or move or think. Paralised by despair.

Maybe if Id done things differently wed still be together.

Dont think about it Rachel. Too sad.

***

(AN ARGUMENT)
So will I tell you about last nights argument? It wasnt anything spectacular really. Just an every-day kind of tiff. Soon as I got home I knew it was going to happen. It was inevitable. I was in that kind of a mood. Itching to fight.

*How was the practice?* Gavin said as I leaned the guitar-case up against the wall.

I looked at him/ not saying a word. I was drunk.

Gavin brushed his fingers back through his thinning hair. *You alright Rachel?*

*Fine.*

*Whats up with you? Youve been dead quiet the last few days.*

I searched his face. All troubled and concerned (poor wee lamb). *Do you love me?* (Me just asking out of badness really.)

*Eh? What do you mean?* (This line of attack has obviously thrown him.)

*I said: do you love me?*

*Christ. Is this about that girl?*

*Im asking you a question Gavin. Do you still love me?*

*I told you what happened Rach. We were both pissed out our faces.* He got up from the bed. Talking to me like I was a child. *She flirted with me and I flirted back. Nothing more.*

*Gavin. I dont want to know about some fucking party two weeks ago. I want to know how we are right now.*

He was laughing at me. Shaking his head. *Cant believe youre making such a big deal out of this. We were just fooling around. You do it all the time Rach.*

*That doesnt interest me.*

*Mind that arsehole in Dundee last year?* he said. *You were all over him like a rash.*

***

(CUT-UP no 14: CRYSTAL DUNES)
Every kiss is the tick-tock heartbeat. Horse-head warriors entangled in the crystal dunes. But Marys thighs were stained rosy with rebellion.

***

(ITS OVER)
*Shut up!* I grabbed his shoulder harder than I meant to. *All I want to hear is you saying you still love me.*

*Well of course I do. You know I love you Rachel.*

*Did you screw her?*

*Oh come on. Stop this.* (Almost pleading now.)

I glared at him.

He just shook his head and smiled/ holding one hand up like he was in court. (That wide-boy grin used to just melt me.) *I assure you Your Honour that I did not shag the lady in question. Indeed I believe that on that particular evening I was pished oot ma skull and couldnae get a hardon even if I wanted one.* He chuckled and reached for me. (He thinks hes being cute.)

burning into every cell in my body. Devastating me. At these times I struggle to talk or move or

I knocked his hand away: *You shouldve fucked her while you had the chance Gavin.* (Heart going like mad. This could be it.)

*Eh?*

*I said you shouldve just gone ahead and shagged that wee tart.*

He was stunned.

*Just like you shagged Leanne Nesbit last year and fuck-knows who else since then.* I was determined not to cry in front of him.

*What are you saying?*

*Were finished Gavin. Its over.* The tears already rolling in hot streams down my cheeks.

***

(ANGRY WOMEN)
INTERIOR. RACHELS FLAT. BEDROOM. EVENING. 1996.
RACHEL BABYLON lies across her bed carefully cutting a photograph of feminist pornstar turned performance artist Annie Sprinkle from a book about Angry Women. In this photograph (by Eric Kroll) Annie Sprinkle poses as 1/2 Slut and 1/2 Goddess with tassles on her breasts and a sex-toy clutched in each hand.

***

(LETS GO TO BED)
*Were finished Gavin. Its over.* The tears already rolling in hot streams down my cheeks.

He sighed and looked at me. *Youre mental Rachel.* He stroked his hands over my hips. *You knew I was only joking. Whats all this melodrama for?*

I shrugged my shoulders and we were silent for a while. (Its humiliating that he wont even take my threats seriously.)

*I do love you.* (Him testing the water.)

*I know.*

He raised an eyebrow/ willing me to smile. *Want a drink?*

I nodded sullenly and he padded over to the table/ pouring me out a vodka. I knocked this straight back/ pulled a queasy face and handed him the glass. *Lets go to bed. Im tired.* I said.

So I disappeared off to the bathroom to take off my makeup and brush my teeth. By the time I went back through Gavin was sitting naked on the bed/ slurping from a can of strong lager and scratching his nails through the dark hairs of his chest. I turned away from him. Started undressing. Shoes. Tights. Blouse. Skirt. Bra. Knickers. I put my earrings on top of the dressing table and studied my body in the mirror. *I look like shit.*

Getting up from the bed Gavin kissed me softly on the nape of my neck and wrapped his hairy arms around me from behind. *Youre gorgeous* he said. He clasped my breasts/ one in each smooth palm. I could smell his Kouros aftershave billowing around me and feel his warm stomach pressing against my back. His hardening penis nestled against the cheeks of my bum. Gavin smiled at me in the mirror.

(I used to think he looked like a young Mick Jagger. Those pouting lips really got to me for some reason. Soon got over that infatuation.)

He raised two thick dark eyebrows. *Will I skin up?*

I nodded.

While Gavin expertly assembled a joint on the bedside table I poured myself another vodka and downed it. I opened the bottom drawer of my dressing-table and rummaged through all my tapes. (At one time I used to keep these neatly stacked in vaguely alphabetical order but now theyre just chucked in a heap. A big mess. Just like my head.)

After a lot of consideration I picked out Patti Smiths *Radio Ethiopia* album/ stuck it in the machine and pressed play.

***

(MY SECRET SELF)
dreamed-up punk babe who leads me like a dog through my wild sensual adventures. Quite a bit older than me. A ghostly guru. Wise and poetic/ sharp as a razor too. A kind of super-exagerated Patti Smith.

I remember listening to *Horses*/ *Radio Ethiopia* and *Easter* when I was eighteen. I could hardly believe that Id discovered this woman who knew so much about my secret self.

***

(HEAD)
While Gavin was sucking on the joint he drew my head between his legs and I moved my mouth on him. I can never totally relax when Im doing this. Fantasies are ok but the reality of BJs does nothing for me. What if he shoots his stuff in my mouth? Or starts choking me on his cock?

*You wanting some of this?* he mumbled.

I gladly sat up/ took the joint and lay back on the bed/ drawing heavily so the end burned brightly. I could feel the room spinning around me.

The sex was disappointing. After five minutes of foreplay (tits/ arse/ vagina/ no clit) he clambered on top of me. It takes him fucking ages when hes wasted. Eventually he shuddered and rolled onto his own side of the bed/ drifting off into a contented sleep like some innocent wee boy.

I lay there for a while feeling angry and vaguely aroused. My legs were aching and I was too drained of energy to masturbate but my head was buzzing with so many thoughts that I couldnt get off to sleep.

After an hour lying there - Gavin snoring softly into my shoulder - I crawled out of bed/ draped a blanket around my shoulders and resigned myself to sharing my insomnia with Patti Smith.

***

(SHARP AS A RAZOR)
In my fantasies Im the ultimate groupie. A modern day Pamela Des Barres. In my midnight world of lust and dreams I have none of my usual inhibitions. Anything or ANYONE can happen in the privacy of my mind. Damon Albarn. Marianne Faithful. Tupac. Debbie Harry (circa *Heart Of Glass*). Hendrix. Courtney. One of the New York Dolls (cant remember his name). Madonna (any era). Trent Reznor. Those three girls out of TLC. Just WHOEVER.

Scenarios often feature this dreamed-up punk babe who leads me like a dog through my adventures. Quite a bit older than me. A ghostly guru. Wise and poetic/ wild and sensual/ sharp as a razor too. A kind of super-exagerated Patti Smith.

I remember listening to *Horses*/ *Radio Ethiopia* and *Easter* when I was eighteen. I could hardly believe Id discovered this woman who knew so much about my secret self. A poet with the dark passion of the Symbolists and the fucked-up rock n roll intensity of Jim Morrison/ Lou Reed/ Iggy Stooge. She had no guilt. Talked as dirty as any man. A real Cowboy Mouth. Said she liked to sit at a typewriter and masturbate whilst tapping out wild poems like one of those amphetamine Beat writers from the 50s.

***

(MY JOURNEY)
Switching off the tape I wrap the earphone-wires round the body of the walkman and stick it back in the bottom drawer. I get to my feet and allow the blanket to fall from around my shoulders onto the floor. Staring at the refection of my shivering body.

I guess this dark journey really began when I was 10 years old. Thats when I started to notice all these new curves on my hips and on my bum. It didnt disturb me too much at the time but the next couple of years were frightening. It seemed the more my body changed the less I knew who I was. I was wary of my sexuality. It burst out of me like some wild white horse. Snorting and dangerous. Mysterious and unreal. It confused me. Strange hairs sprouted under my arms and between my legs. I was even developing breasts.

My Mum was just as suspicious of my new body as I was. She didnt want to have to deal with my burgeoning womanhood at all. I guess seeing me this way mustve brought back all the turmoil of her own troubled chrysalis. It was far less uncomfortable for her to just sweep it all under the carpet/ carry on treating me like an eight year old.

At this point I didnt really know WHAT I was. Nature was trying to tell me I was a woman but my Mother was still insisting I was a wee girl. Shed prove this to me by picking the subjects I was to study at school/ choosing what clothes I should wear/ telling me what friends I was allowed/ laughing at my schoolgirl crushes.

One time when I was 12 years old Mum called me into her room. She sat me down at the stool in front of the white dressing table and brushed the tangles out of my hair. Shed come to realise that my adolescence wasnt just going to go away. She might as well enjoy it. So she put a few kirby grips between her lips and started pinning my hair on top of my head.

*Very sophisticated* she said when it was done. *You look just like Audrey Hepburn.* She grabbed for her make-up bag. She was enjoying this more than I was.

This was all new to me. Id experimented with lipstick in the bathroom a few times but it was strange to have my Mother slap on all this foundation/ blusher/ eye-shadow and nail varnish. She squirted each of my wrists with her expensive perfume and said *What do you think?*

I looked at my reflection. Id grown older by about four years. *I feel funny* I said.

My mother smiled. *Youre at a funny age darling.*

I blinked and hesitated. I could feel my heart thumping. *Janice got her period last week.*

Mum nodded but I could see a deep blush rise in her cheeks. She dropped the perfume on the floor/ picked it up/ put it on the dressing table and went out of the room. I sat there chewing my lip. Staring at my strange reflection. Feeling deserted.

Later that evening Mum tapped lightly on my door/ came in/ handed me a box of Tampax without a word and left/ pulling the door gently shut behind her. It was like she was saying *There you go Rachel. Youll just have to get on with it.*

A few months later - when my own period finally arrived - I bled all over the linoleum carpeting in our bathroom trying to put the tampon in. I dont think Ive ever felt more alone. Mum was happy to play stupid games and dress me up like some doll but any mention of menstruation - a REAL symbol of my approaching womanhood - and she just clammed right up. She was more scared of my body than I was.

And now here I am. The peak of my sexuality. Its time I learned to love this body. In fifteen or twenty years time the smooth skin will stretch and sag and wrinkle. My hair will turn grey.

***

(IN HER MIND SHE URGES)
Lying alone in the darkness of the guest room she often recalled those squirming leather-clad bodies bound and chained down there in the dungeon. Severine imagined herself strapped spread-eagled and naked face-down on the rough wooden table - her breasts squashed beneath her body - begging for just one more crack of the whip. Each night she tossed and turned/ aching to feel Clays rough hands smacking hard against the soft flesh of her buttocks. She silently willed the wicked American to burst into her bedroom and thrust his erection into her mouth or bury his face between her thighs. In her mind she urged him to lick her roughly/ without any delicacy/ to squeeze her breasts and buttocks until

***

(GETTING OLD)
*What you doing?*

I jump and spin around. Gavins head is peaking out from under the quilt.

*Nothing* I mumble. *I was just going to tidy up some of this mess.* Im aware of him watching me as I bend down and start scooping my clothes into a bundle in my arms.

Gavin yawns and grinds the ball of his hand into one eye. Smiling cheekily he pats the bed beside him. *Its cosy in here.*

Laying the pile of clothes down on top of the dresser I climb back into bed. He reaches his arms around me and I snuggle into his warmth. *Youre beautiful Rachel. You know that dont you?*

I look up at him. *Dont talk rubbish.*

*You are.* He grins and kisses my shoulder.

I draw back.

*What is it?* Puzzled by my reaction.

I can feel my stomach knot. *Why do you say stuff like that?*

*Its true. I think youre beautiful.*

*You talk a lot of shit sometimes Gavin.*

He frowns and sits up. *Whats up with you?*

Sullenly: *Nothing.*

*I dont understand you Rachel* he says. *Youve got no confidence in yourself.*

I shrug my shoulders.

*Why do you always put yourself down like this?*

Im silent for a long time. I listen to the clock ticking and the traffic moving down below. *Im not a very nice person.*

*What do you mean?*

*Im dead.*

*Eh?*

*Ive got nothing inside me.* Im expecting him to laugh and crack a dirty joke but he just strokes my shoulder/ looking kind of worried.

*Rachel. Why you being so morbid?*

*Dunno.*

*Is it me? Have I done something wrong?*

I laugh. He looks so pathetic that I say *Nah. Course not. Just me being a miserable cow.* I kiss the end of his nose and lay my cheek against his chest. *I guess Im just getting old.*